


Take Me to Church

by orphan_account



Series: Insatiable [10]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Plug, Begging, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, LMAO, Male Submissive, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Time Skip, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Shibari, Vaginal Sex, fucking in a confessional, light exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Claude and Byleth engage in some good old fashioned blasphemy.





	Take Me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> Got bored at work and wrote this. Pls enjoy. If there's any grammatical/spelling errors pls tell me so I can correct them, thanks!
> 
> Forgive my shitty title, lmao.

They’re in a church, listening to a sermon. Well, not really. At least Claude isn’t listening. Really, he doesn’t think he can, not in the current state that he’s in. The only reason they're here is because of  _ business.  _ They're keeping up  _ appearances  _ as King and Queen. The usual nonsense of making nobles happy since neither he nor Byleth are very religious, ironically enough. Leave it to Byleth to literally be part Goddess now and still not be very interested in praying. 

And leave it to her to be completely, unabashedly, utterly  _ blasphemous.  _ Really, he'd say their entire sex lives are just that, something to make any diety look away shyly, cheeks red and probably with a lightning bolt in hand ready to smite them. Dirty,  _ dirty _ sinners is what he and his Queen are.

Claude squirms in his seat awkwardly, which is probably something he shouldn't have done because the giant plug inside of him shifts with him. His body tenses when it hits a certain bundle of nerves and he has to cover his mouth to prevent himself from moaning. Sweat trickles his brow and an unbearable heat courses through his lower stomach. 

He's rock hard. Has been so for a while now. Luckily (or  _ unluckily)  _ his cock is lovingly tied to his leg so it can't tent his pants. It's tied with a thin, silky golden rope. The same rope that currently crisscrosses his entire body, hidden beneath the layers of his clothing. He's intensely aware of how they feel on his skin. With every movement he makes, his muscles melt under the touch of the rope. Some parts are tied more tightly than others, and he knows he'll be feeling some ropeburn for a couple of days. He’s had the lash running across his body for  _ hours  _ now.

_ Shibari,  _ he thinks this is called. That's what Byleth called it. Some ancient artform from the East, apparently. Kinky fuckers. Gave his wife all sorts of ideas. She's wants to suspend him off the ceiling at some point, leave him there for  _ hours.  _ Just the thought of that was prime masturbatory material.

There's a particularly devious length of rope riding up his asscheeks. It rubs against his plug and chafes against his sensitive skin. If that wasn't enough, his arse is currently a myriad of different shades of red. After Byleth had tied the ropes across his body — which took  _ forever  _ — she bent him over and give his rear a good walloping. Punishment for cumming before her the last time they fucked, but Claude didn't care. He always appreciated a good spanking because Byleth was a fucking expert at it at this point. And he's an expert at  _ taking  _ it because he's the perfect submissive to her sometimes overwhelming dominance, thank you very much. He should get an award. Maybe something called ‘best-ass-to-spank.’ Yeah, that’ll do.

Her ministrations on his ass almost made him cry. Almost. She stopped because she didn't want his eyes red rimmed when they went to church. He thinks he might cry anyway. The welts on his ass causes him to shift constantly, sometimes making him hiss lowly, and then the shifting moves the rope and plug, all resulting in him all to ready to  _ beg.  _ And he would beg, if they weren't in the middle of a fucking sermon.

_ Which church are we even in? Where the fuck are we? _

He thinks he might be losing his mind. Maybe he already has considering his current predicament. His mind is fuzzy, his entire face warm, so warm he thinks his brain probably melted. He doesn't even know what country he's in right now. Or continent for that matter. Is he even on the same plane of reality as everyone else here anymore? Doesn't feel like it. Doesn't even feel like he's in the physical world. Instead he feels like he's floating among the sea of stars. Maybe this is the  _ "Galaxy brain"  _ stuff Sylvain has been talking about recently. He's ascended from the physical realm, and all he needed was some rope, an anal plug and a sore ass. 

Yeah. He's definitely lost his mind.

Before he can continue to fall into lust filled madness and just straight up cream in his pants, a hand grabs his shoulder.

"Are you okay?" And through half lidded eyes he sees Cyril's face. 

Claude swallows thickly, "Never better." 

"You look like you're developing a fever," the younger Almyran whispers, not wanting to disturb the congregation, "if you need to, you can leave, you know."

Of course it looks like he's got a fever. He's face is burning, drenched in sweat, and it's hard to keep his eyes open. The church itself is very dimly lit, only the front completely illuminated. Makes for a pretty cozy atmosphere, if anything. But because of the dim light he had hoped his beaming redness was harder to notice. 

Though, it's unsurprising it's Cryil that was the one who noticed in the end. The man's a sniper. Spotting irregularities was pretty much his job, especially when it came to the church. 

Claude curls his hands into tight fists in an effort to control himself. Gotta suppress those  _ whines,  _ otherwise this'll be more awkward than it already is. 

"I'm fine, thanks Cyril," he says, voice more clipped than he intended, "If something happens be rest assured I will leave to seek assistance. You don't have to worry about your King keeling over and dying just yet, heh."

Cyril doesn't look very convinced, but he concedes and goes back to his pew to sit next to Lysithea. Claude narrows his eyes. Surely Cyril is little more aware of what's going on. He's 99% sure Lysithea is just as blasphemous as Byleth. Hell, maybe Byleth got this idea from the young mage. If Claude was a betting man — which he is, and a damn good one at that. The best. He would have made Lorenz bankrupt if Marianne didn't put a stop to his gambling schemes — he'd guess that most if not all the women he knows are complete sadists. Funny how that works.

He squirms again, and he thinks he's mere moments away at breaking this fucking pew's armrest with the iron grip he currently has on it. His body is trembling, he thinks.  _ Thinks.  _ He's not even aware of his own body's movements because his brain really has melted into mush. 

There's an applause. Someone sits next to him.

_ Byleth.  _

Right. She was making some sort of speech that Claude heard absolutely none of. Probably something ultra Queenly. Politics and all that. Now the sermon will actually begin, he supposes. From the corner of his eyes he can see Byleth begin to lean into him. He smiles, knowing full well that she’s going to seduce him. Well, he’s already been seduced. A long time ago, considering the current fist sized plug in his fucking asshole. 

Even before Byleth touches his thigh with a soft but firm hand he feels his lungs expand with an excited breath. Her voice has a lilt he knows so,  _ so  _ well and loves much more. Her words are soft, another whisper, and her hand rubbing his leg — against his tied cock — sends electric tingles across his entire body. There’s such a desire to  _ play  _ and goddammit he just wants this woman to hurry up and ravish him already. He can feel the goosebumps assault his body and he has to make a physical effort to stop from trembling more violently than he already is. He still has a death grip on the armrest. 

“Byle—”

He’s cut off from everyone standing suddenly. His eyes go wide in a brief panic and Byleth merely grins wider, her canines showing. He always liked her canines. Always liked the way they felt when she bites into him. Was teeth a kink? Probably. He likes hers far too much.

“Time to sing some praises, Claude.”

And then she  _ winks  _ at him. 

His voice wavers, “H-Hey… nnggh, T-That’s my shtick,” to prove his point, he winks back at her as he shakily stands. 

He’s nearing his breaking point, he knows that much. Luckily his clothing has layers so he doesn’t think there’d be a very noticeable white spot but, well… he’d rather not risk it. He doesn’t like having an audience, but this weird sort of… light exhibitionism, of no one actually seeing anything, is fucking hot. Regardless, he’s eternally grateful at the fact that he knows Byleth would not be upset with him if he said his safeword and stopped everything here. 

The singing starts. He doesn’t join it. Rather he makes vague mouth movements, due to the fact he genuinely doesn’t know the words and also because he’s pretty sure he can no longer make a coherent sentence. He had trouble sitting, but now he finds he has just as much trouble standing up. His knees buckle every now and then, his leg muscles suddenly feeling like they’re on fire. Not only that, his stomach feels like it’s made of lava. His stomach contorts and tightens and he just wants to  _ cum oh god please just let me fucking cum— _

He flicks his glassy eyes to Byleth and his heart lurches to his throat. She’s staring at him, probably has been the entire time, and she’s got  _ the look.  _ Lips quirked to one side with a lidded and pointed gaze that only speaks of danger. She looks like a wolf that’s cornered her next meal. 

He’s never been happier to be a deer. Her deer. Her _prey._

Her hand lazily trails his back, intentionally tugging at the rope that binds his torso. He tries to not make jerky movements in response. 

She speaks, her voice almost drowned out by the singing, “How are you doing?”

He swallows thickly again. He’s clothes are so uncomfortable and damp at this point. He just wants to take it off. 

“F-Fine. But — But,” he has a full-body shiver, and looks at her with pleading eyes and simply mouths a weak  _ “please.” _

She hums noncommitedly and he thinks he’s going to cry. Can feel the tears prickle at his eyes, and his puppy-dog eyes must do the trick as she takes his shaking hand and leads him out. She whispers something to the guard waiting at the door. He just hears the word  _ “sick”  _ and  _ “rest.”  _

* * *

Suffice to say, Claude does not get any rest. 

They’re committing another blasphemy. Just another tick off their check-list. 

They’re in a confessional. 

She pushes him on the door and then infuriatingly does nothing but stare at him with hungry eyes. He’s pretty sure she wants him to beg again, and he’s all too willing to do just that. 

No sooner does he think that does she lean in against his body and grip his hips with a bruising hold. He feels her warmth and already his mind is playing multiple scenes of her kissing him like a lovesick schoolboy. She doesn’t kiss him, rather she leans in further to blow short, warm breaths against his neck. His own breath hitches, and she continues to  _ tease  _ as one hand on his hip goes to knead his asscheeks. His own hands grip at her clothing, desperately like he’s about to fall. He thinks he might with how his knees shake.

“Byleth,” Claude rasps, “p-please.”

“Please what?” She asks with a sing-song voice, and blows a long breath across his nape now. 

“Ple — nngh — Please just…” He inhales sharply, “Please  _ fuck me.”  _

She hums again, and a sly finger moves between his cheeks to poke at the plug, making it rub against his prostate. He yelps sharply — and  _ loudly  _ — and he brings a hand to his mouth to quickly stifle himself. His hips buck against her, and if his cock wasn’t tied he’s pretty sure he would have came then and there at just touching her like that. 

Byleth pries his mouth away from his mouth, and her other hand roughly entangles itself in his hair, forcing him to crane his neck so that their lips meet. There’s nothing innocent by the way she compels his mouth open, her kiss is hot, fiery, passionate and demanding. It’s very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of old wine being exchanged in the intermingling of their billowing breaths. It obliterates his every thought. 

It feels like eons before they part. He would have liked for it to last longer. To last an eternity. But he always thinks that. He’s pretty sure he could live off her lips alone. 

When she pulls away from him he  _ whines  _ at the loss of her touch, but perhaps more importantly…

He falls to his knees. 

Claude didn’t expect the strength to leave his body quite so… quickly, he’d be burning with embarrassment if his face wasn’t already so flushed. He fell on his knees with a fair bit of force and he mutters a quick, almost disbelieving ‘ow.’

There’s an amused huff, and Byleth has an eyebrow quirked, “You good?”

He nods. 

“Glad to know,” she says lowly, back into her role, “That’s exactly the position I wanted you in anyway.”

She takes her seat and he reminds himself they’re a confessional. A fucking  _ confessional.  _ Thank fuck everyone’s at the sermon. Though the image of a terrified priest on the other side does make him chuckle.

She hikes up her skirts, or robes, his mind is so frazzled he’s not entirely sure what she’s wearing right now. Either way it’s an…  _ easy  _ access garb, and soon enough he sees her dripping wet cunt. No panties for today, apparently. Naughty. 

“Time for some worship, don’t you think?” She practically growls it out, and he can almost feel the primal desire emanating off her, “Sing me your praises, choir boy.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He dives into her crotch, feeling her pubic hair tickle his nose. He licks over her labia lips like a man dying of thirst. He’s rewarded with a low moan and he makes sure to flutter his emerald eyes at her when he looks up. Byleth’s muscular thighs close against his cheeks. Claude continues licking, and palms at his cock. 

He watches her cup her breast and lick her lips. Her other hand grabs his hair again, her digits tight against his scalp. He circles and flicks her sensitive nub with just the right pressure. He knows what she likes. 

His tongue goes in and out, dances,  _ worships  _ her. He softly sucks on her clitoris, then gives it a slow lick after. He inserts a finger, though it’s a bit difficult with how tightly her thighs are pressing against his cheeks. He enters her and pumps while keeping his tongue on her nub. 

Byleth groans and throws her head back. He feels the light shivers of her thighs, but he remarkably keeps her composure. Much better than he can, in any case. 

He doesn’t stop licking, and makes sure to lap up every stream of her juices. 

They stay there for a bit after she orgasms. He thinks he’s going to eat her out a second time, though his jaw begins to hurt. Eventually, and mercifully, she lets him go. She huffs another light laugh. 

“You’re really warm. Could feel the heat on your cheeks on my thighs. Cute.”

Despite just putting his mouth to her divine cunt, he still shyly looks away at being called ‘cute.’ Cheeky woman, always saying things that make him blush like a maiden. 

She stands and points at her seat, “Sit.”

When he’s about to take her place, she holds onto his shoulders and pushes him down roughly. His ass hits the chair with a thud and he  _ whines.  _ His abused ass sends jolts of pain throughout his body and he fucking loves it. He’s accepted a long time ago that he’s a dirty masochist. Now he  _ relishes  _ in it. It’s a positively divine feeling. 

“Claude,” she says and he’s broken out of his reverie, “I’m going to fuck you now.”

He mumbles incoherently before groaning. 

She leans in, foreheads touching, “You know the magic words.”

He shivers, and whines again, “Please, ugh, please just fuck me.”

She grips on his shoulders hard, her nails seemingly going through his clothes and scratching at his skin. Claude awkwardly shimmies out of his pants when she then pulls it off. 

Byleth trails a finger on his bound cock, light like a feather. His penis would be jerking at the sensation if it wasn’t tied, and the rope suddenly feel tighter. Unbearable. A heavy, raspy moan comes from his chest.

“B-Byleth,” he mumbles, trying to give her a charming smile but he knows it’s wavering, “L-Love of my life, darling wife, my d-dearest…” He groans and throws his head back, “F-Fucking… please, I’m  _ dying  _ here!”

“Poor thing.” Is all she says, amusement filling her voice. She slowly,  _ excruciatingly  _ slowly, frees his cock and he actually cries. Full on sniffles when he feels his cheeks go damp. 

Byleth mounts him like the prize he is. Guides him inside of her just as slowly and he sobs. His hands once again desperately cling on her back and when his cock is fully inside of her he thinks he’s seeing stars. 

And when she ride him, rocking him back and forth and making shift and move on the  _ plug  _ he cries out unabashedly. He buries his face into her shoulder to try to keep himself quiet. They rock back and forth, and he thinks that maybe the entire confessional is moving with her rough movements. 

Her hands move up and down under his shirt, pulling and gripping at the rope. Pinching his nipples. Scratching his skin. Her frantic movements overwhelm him with a myriad of sensations. 

Considering he’s been on the edge for the entire day, he  _ really  _ doesn’t take him long to finish, to find his sweet, sweet release. Claude knows she’s on birth control so there’s no worry in that regard, so he cums inside of her with a shrill and strangled cry and trembling muscles. The second he whines out her free hand latches onto his throat, almost choking the air out of him.

His face is forced away from her shoulder when she pulls on his hair roughly. Her sublime, perfect teeth find purchase on his bottom lip. She nips just the way he likes it and he groans again, feeling like he’s melting into her. 

When she lets his lip go he falls back on her shoulder. The hand in his hair softens its hold, now caressing him. 

They stay like that for a while. 

“You liked that?” she whispers. 

“Fuck yes,” he says, voice hoarse. 

She hums, soon murmuring a soft song that almost lulls him to sleep. Her weight is a comforting one. He’s pretty sure his body is becoming numb. Perhaps he really will go to sleep. 

Byleth tries to extract herself from his embrace but he tightens his hold. “No,” he murmurs, “wanna stay.”   
  


She snorts, “Alright then. As long as you like.”

He doesn’t know how long they stay, but he knows eventually they will have to leave. If anything it would be awkward for the sermon to end, and then they’d have to wait longer because two people emerging from a confessional?  _ Totally  _ not suspicious at all. 

After a while, they stand and clean themselves to leave. Byleth offers to take the plug out and free him from the shibari, but he just laughs. He’s feeling awfully rejuvenated now. 

He winks, “I think I’m ready for round two.”

**Author's Note:**

> I dislike how the smut turned out, felt a bit quick but Claude was pretty much dying so w/e. I got a bit inspired by looking at kinktober prompts, and then I had an epiphany about this scene and I was like hell yah, gotta write this shit. I don't intend on properly participating on kinktober, but seeing how there's some nifty prompts floating around I might write something else later. If there's anything you really wanna see please let me know, but I can't make any promises, as I'm primarily focused on other projects.


End file.
